


On Strings and Slippers

by fictrash



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, and then intense angst, buckle up boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictrash/pseuds/fictrash
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky, a 19 year old prodigy dancer is working towards his first lead role in a major production when he meets Otabek Altin, a student violinist. Instantly enamoured, Yuri tries to push it away until he can gauge Otabek's feelings for him. But what if those feelings never come?Intense pining and probable unrequited love. Definitely for the faint of heart.





	On Strings and Slippers

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fic since the eighth grade, and I didn't finish that one. Womp
> 
> I also know literally nothing about either of these art mediums. Maybe I shouldn't be here

It was uncharacteristically hot for April, which made the air backstage even more unbearable. Yuri readjusted his hair for probably the hundredth time, impatiently jabbing endless lose strands back up on top of his head. Or maybe they were the same ten strands.

“Yuri. Are you here to practice or to make eyes at your own reflection?” Lilia demanded from somewhere on stage, separated from Yuri by a thick black curtain. He had no idea how she knew what he was doing, and he did _not_ like it. 

“It’s not my fault I’m so god damn attractive” he shot back, making eye contact with one of the seven girls standing on the stage as he spoke. He then scowled at her until she dropped her gaze, blushing. He did turn back then and ‘make eyes’ at his reflection. Regarding himeslf in the full size mirror, he tried to imagine a stranger looking back into those green eyes. His jawline had recently become more pronounced, shedding the last of the childish roundness that made up his features. When his hair was behaving it reached just past his collarbones, and framed his face and his eyes in a delicate way. If that was even what he meant by that he wasn’t sure. Maybe he should stick to dance and not take up writing literature. He’d earned a “tch” from Lilia and, deciding it was satisfactory, turned back again to listen to her from somewhere out of sight. 

The director clapped her hands. “Let’s go everyone, once more from the top. Yuri, your intro is still sloppy. I need you to _listen_. Listen to the music while you dance or there is no flow. Conductor, if you will.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and took his position between the second and third thick black curtains. He was doing just fine in the studio with the studio music, and now the live orchestra was messing it all up. Except Yuri couldn’t feel the difference from before. He didn’t understand what needed fixing. In his quite valid and honest opinion, his execution of the lead role was fucking flawless. This made things rather difficult with Lilia, who was always stubbornly insisting he fix imperceptible things without telling him how. The biggest trouble was that even though the only person who could see these things was Lilia, she was the only one that mattered when it came to ballet. If Lilia Baranovskaya did not think you were the best, then you were simply not the best. 

As the music started, Yuri felt his body melt and relax as his muscles took over, whisking him on stage. He kept his ears open as he bent and twisted, eyes half closed, dedicating everything he could to the sound of the orchestra and the feeling of the air around his body. He groaned inwardly, slipping out of the trance for just a moment when he felt his hair brush back across his cheek. He wish he didn’t love it so much, or he could just chop the whole mess right off. 

As the sequence was coming to and end, he felt Lilia’s gaze heavy on his shoulders and opened his eyes to see the look she was giving him. It was never a good one, age having pulled her face into a constant state of disapproval. 

When his eyes focused, however, he was flying through the air looking down, right into the orchestral pit, right into a pair of beautiful brown eyes. Yuri felt the world slow down, except it didn’t and he almost came crashing down to the stage, just barely catching footing on the floor. And then suddenly the piece was over, and Yuri realized he had no idea how he got there. He blinked and looked around, considering for a moment he might just be standing on the stage gaping like an idiot at the pit, but no one was yelling at him yet so his legs probably carried him though. How reliable. 

He detangled himself from the end pose and faced Lilia front on, willing himself not to glance back at the orchestra, not to look for something that couldn’t have even been real. They were so deep, blown wide with something Yuri could now deduce was probably awe, or admiration. Possibly just a fan, he thought, and definitely not worth the search. 

“Yuri! Pay attention when I am talking to you, I don’t pay you to stand there and daydream.” Exasperated, Lilia waved her arms slightly and Yuri pulled a face, hoping the heat of the blush he could feel didn’t actually reach his cheeks. When she was sure she had more of Yuri’s attention she began again. He always tried to listen to everything she said, despite his attitude about advice and suggestions, because any tips from Lilia that are actually distinguishable are worth having. But he would certainly deny it if anyone ever asked.

When Lilia decided to wrap up, Yuri allowed himself one glance into the orchestral pit as he walked towards the side of the stage, trying to seem nonchalant as he looked almost desperately for the eyes he’d already convinced himself were a daydream conjured by fatigue. It was a bit of an awkward angle to look down and Yuri had to arch his body slightly to compensate for the distance. He let out a small sigh of relief whe he saw there were only a few old fogies and that conductor guy that Lilia insisted on pretending she didn’t know. (Yakov, maybe? Yuri tried his best to not keep track of anyone’s relationship situation. The less he knew the better.)

Trying not to feel dispirited (if the eyes belonged to anyone left in that pit he’d rather just not know), because he 'wasn’t even looking for anything in the first place', he stalked off to his change room to pick up his things. 

In his black leggings and black long sleeve that clung tightly to his frame, he felt extremely bland. Tossing on his black zip up lepoard print sweater made him feel a little more at home, even though it was also black, and only slightly less boring than his outfit underneath. Remembering all of the laundry awaiting his arrival at home made him scowl dramatically before heading for he main lobby exit. Busily shoving headphones in his ears and scrolling for music, he was turning corners and decending stairs without even looking, relying entirely on his muscle memory. So he almost went right through the roof when someone said, “Hi.”

Yuri’s blood ran cold, and he stopped completely, yanking out his headphones even though they were still not playing anything. Unfortunately, he knew exactly who that was. “What the actual fuck are you doing here, Yohan.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Yuri.” Yohan came around to face Yuri and gave him a devilish grin. Not the good kind. The slimy no good takes your money to buy drugs and sleeps with ten other people while you’re supposedly dating kind. 

“There is nothing nice about seeing you anywhere. Every time I remember you’re alive I vomit in my mouth a little bit.” Yuri gave Yohan his well practiced death glare, only reserved for actual pieces of garbage like the man standing way too close, just now. After a moment, Yuri added, practically hissing, “why don’t you just get the fuck out of my space.” To Yuri’s satisfaction, Yohan did seem to lose the sneer for a moment, looking first surprised, and then confused. Yuri realized then that that wasn’t the reaction he was going for, and right at the same moment felt a warm, reassuring hand at his elbow. A soft voice came from behind him, one he was sure he had never heard before.

“Yuri, dear. Is this man bothering you?” Yuri, trying his best not to look as caught off guard as Yohan, turned slightly and was met again with those god damn beautiful eyes, so much closer now he thought maybe he’d just fall in. Yohan cleared his throat somewhere off in a distant reality, and Yuri blinked until he could look away from the man standing beside him, who continued speaking as if he had known Yuri for years. “We were just about to go grab a cup of coffee, maybe you guys could continue this another time?”

Yuri jumped in then with a quick, “or never, maybe. That works.” Yohan spent an extra second on closing his mouth before turning around and banging through lobby doors.

Yuri wasn’t entirely sure if he should even breathe, not sure what to do here in this moment with this stranger still gently holding is arm. Eventually it got awkward, both of them standing as still as marble statues, alone in the ever echoing lobby staring at the glass doors by the box office counter. Yuri took a breath and Eyes here took his hand away while Yuri pretended not to notice how cold he felt when the stranger distanced himself. He turned to look at the man, careful to look at the ground first so as to not accidentally make eye contact again. Black boots, black jeans, grey top – leather jacket? Who was this guy? Mentally bracing himself, he looked up into the man’s face and saw it for the first time. Strong jawline, tan skin, and excellent eyebrows. An undercut? Did they allow that sort of thing in orchestras? Yuri thought they all had sticks up their asses. He’d heard Yakov scolding a flutist once for not having shoes in the right shade of black. But what does Yuri know, he guessed. 

The man started shifting uncomfortably and Yuri realized he had been intently staring for more than a minute. He felt his neck heat up and wished maybe that he could be anywhere else but right here. Embarrassed he started to turn away and head towards the doors, but something made him stop. Feeling a new kind of boldness that had nothing to do with the confident Yuri Plisetsky, but rather the irrational wild Yuri Plisetsky, he turned back until his body was angled halfway between facing the man and facing the door. 

"Well, aren't you taking me for coffee?”


End file.
